


You Are and I Am

by MaskoftheRay



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Justice League & Justice League Unlimited (Cartoons), Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Angsty Clark Kent, Assumed Relationship, Bruce Wayne Has Feelings, Bruce Wayne Has Issues, Bruce and Clark are best friends... and so is Diana, But ONLY Bruce and Clark are dating... eventually, Clark Kent Needs a Hug, Clark Kent also has issues, Drunken Confessions, Emotional Hurt, Feels, Fluff and Angst, Heartache, Heartbeats, Identity Reveal, Idiots in Love, Kinda based-on The Death of Superman, M/M, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, POV Clark Kent, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Secret Identity, Slow Burn, Tempoary Major Charater Death, Use Your Words
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-15
Updated: 2019-11-15
Packaged: 2021-01-31 03:44:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21439675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaskoftheRay/pseuds/MaskoftheRay
Summary: Batman, to put it politely, doesn’t trust easily.For an investigative journalist likeSupermanClark Kent, that just makes him more fascinating. When Batman (finally) joins the Justice League, Superman is— to say the least—intrigued, and eager to get to know the mysterious Gotham Bat. So is everyone else. But onlyClarkhas a crush on Batman... which leads to him accidentally discovering the man’s real identity. However, before Clark can act on this information (other than telling Batman that he knows), hedies. And when he comes back, things are not the same, because Bruce and Diana are dating.Or so Clark thinks.
Relationships: Batman & Agent A, Batman & Superman, Batman & Wonder Woman, Batman & the Justice League, Clark Kent & Bruce Wayne, Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne, Diana (Wonder Woman) & Bruce Wayne, Diana (Wonder Woman) & Clark Kent, Eventual Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne, Superman & the Justice League
Comments: 14
Kudos: 457





	You Are and I Am

**Author's Note:**

> “Your silence today is a pond where drowned things live  
I want to see raised dripping and brought into the sun.  
It’s not my own face I see there, but other faces,  
even your face at another age.”  
— from "Twenty-One Love Poems: IX," Adrienne Rich

Batman is not a trusting person. He is exactly the opposite: reserved, guarded, quiet, _private_, **paranoid**. Superman knows this. The Justice League knows this. It’s apparent in the lead that lines the cowl, the dampener in the Batsuit (which Clark _can _sense, even if he can’t hear the heartbeat underneath), the vocal modulator, and in the way that Batman _never ever _lets them see past the cowl’s white lenses.

All they know about the man, physically, is his height, weight, and blood type; Batman is six feet four inches tall, weighs two hundred-and-fifteen pounds, blood type AB+. Even this basic information is disclosed reluctantly— Batman’s gruff, “for emergencies only” had made _that _clear enough. Well, they know this and that he’s from Gotham (because of his accent). But there are other things that can be extrapolated

Batman is between the ages of 25 and 50, though no one thinks he is anywhere near either of those extremes, he’s had an extensive— and impressive— formal education, and he is brilliant. Possibly even a _literal _genius. He is also deeply, deeply troubled.

“What do you think _happened _to him?” Green Lantern asks, tone hushed, after the first league meeting in which Batman is present as a member (he’s consulted before).

“Hal,” Clark chastises. The lantern shrugs, and the subject is dropped. Yet Clark cannot stop himself from privately wondering: _what **did **happen to Batman_?

Because— it is blatantly obvious— _something _did.

Nobody who is normal puts on a suit and **fights crime**. If that says something about the rest of them, well— it only serves to prove Clark’s point. Furthermore, Batman himself hints at a… dark, or at least troubled, past. It’s hard to catch, true, but perhaps not as hard to catch as the man thinks; especially when the ones observing have super-senses.

It’s the small twitches of his jaw when anybody else mentions crime in Gotham. It’s the pursed lips when Flash and Green Lantern are goofing off when there is work to be done. It’s in the warning to “Stay out of Gotham,” as if Batman thinks that they can’t handle the grittiness and desperation of his city. Hell— it’s in the way that Clark has never seen the man smile, laugh, or even look amused. It’s in his biting words, refusal to let **anyone** know him, and his cynical attitude.

“That doesn’t just— people aren’t _born _like that,” Clark muses to Diana, later.

She hums thoughtfully. “You are not wrong, Kal El. But we must be patient; the league cannot afford to lose Batman.” And she’s right. In the months since Batman joined the Justice League, they have become so much more efficient— it almost boggles the mind. They have also become a lot more well-funded.

The thing is, Batman is _rich_. Or, at least, he has a generous benefactor. But Clark is inclined to believe that it’s the man himself who’s rich. They don’t talk about ‘civilian life’ much (at least not when the Gotham hero is present), but when they do, Batman offers few contributions. No snippets of his life, no fond (or not-so) memories. And he _never _complains about bills, his job, or other trivial but ever-present concerns like the others do. However, it’s not just this that makes Clark hypothesize that the man is loaded— it’s his tech, and his personal tastes (those that the league is aware of, at least).

Batman is generally <strike>good</strike> _excellent_ at hero work, but even he occasionally gets injured, damages his equipment, or loses it in a fight. If he were working with a financial backer, there’s no way he’d be able to reload on supplies as quickly as he does. Also, while he generally tries to keep his gear in good condition, he is not afraid to sacrifice it in battle, if need be. No matter _how _rich a potential backer, Clark knows that people are more reluctant to, say, _destroy a jet _(which happens during their first alien invasion) if they aren’t the ones paying for it.

Furthermore, with his background in writing and literature, Clark is more attuned to the signs of a formal education than the rest of the league. This kind of education only comes with time and access to academic materials. Both are resources that are more easily available when one has money (or, in Superman’s case, _powers_). His journalistic background also means that Clark’s been exposed to how members of the upper echelons of society think. While it’s subtle, like everything else about the man, Batman _sounds_ rich.

So, based on all of this, Clark actually has a decent handle of who Batman is. But there are _also _enough shadowy corners and depths in the man’s persona that even Superman, with his x-ray vision, is kept guessing. And, going on a year after his acceptance of league membership, Batman still has not removed the cowl.

“I wish he trusted us,” Flash grumbles.

“Give him time,” Wonder Woman reassures, “he will.”

But more time passes, and even Diana seems to despair of Batman ever revealing his identity.

However, the man has _definitely _grown accustomed to them. Batman is more at ease in meetings (if only slightly). He also shares stories— completely unprompted— about his work in Gotham; it is in this way that they learn that Batman has been working for _a lot_ longer than most of them have even been active. Clark does research later, and discovers that Batman has been around for a_ decade_. Which means that Batman’s age is closer to 50 than 25— for some reason, this puts a lump in Superman’s throat.

A few days after this discovery, Clark realizes: _I may have a crush on Batman_.

The rest of the league (save Diana, and occasionally Hal, but for different reasons) have accepted that they will never know Batman as anything other than ‘Batman.’ It is only _Superman _who seems to be curious— or at least not reluctant to admit to it— about Batman’s identity. And, well, Clark could’ve kidded himself that a crush wasn’t what it was. He could’ve fooled himself into believing that he was just annoyed at the lack of trust (Batman still wears a dampener and continues to line his cowl with lead).

But it’s more than that.

Clark— _not Superman_— catches himself wondering what the other man’s real heartbeat sounds like. He has to stop himself from staring too long at Batman’s lips. He finds himself getting lost in the low tones of Batman’s voice. So, Clark _likes _Batman, then. Not that anything will ever come out of it, of course. He accepts this, with a quiet resignation that leaves him feeling soul-heavy for a week.

“What’s wrong with Big Blue?” Cyborg asks, after a meeting. Diana shushes him.

Of course, Clark’s situation is not helped by the fact that somehow, he seems to have become _friends _with Batman. He doesn’t understand how, and nobody else does either. But, as Arthur says, “It’s hard to _not _like Superman.” Maybe that applies to giant bats too. Either way, Batman seems to respect him, and it shows in the sheer fact that he talks to Clark. At least, he talks _more _to Clark than to anyone else they work with.

“Maybe he likes you too,” Diana comments one afternoon, when they’re on monitor duty.

Clark nearly spits out his coffee all over the multi-million-dollar monitors. “Wh-what?” he asks incredulously. _Am I being **that **obvious?_

Diana fixes him with a look. “Don’t be foolish, Clark. The man spends most of his time talking to you, _tolerating_ me, and working with everyone else. There is hope.” She pats his arm, and rises to get them refills of their chosen beverages. Clark blinks.

But it’s not until _two years_ later that Clark accidentally uncovers Batman’s identity.

He’s covering a charity gala— an event that’s going to fund a new transit line between Gotham and Metropolis— when it happens. He is one among the crowd of reporters and hangers-on surrounding Bruce Wayne, who’s in Metropolis to lend his support (and money) to the event. Wayne’s voice tonight has stricken a chord in Clark, and he can’t help frowning at it. It— it’s not attraction, he’s pretty sure, but it… there’s some kind of _familiar _note in Wayne’s voice that Clark can’t quite place. Then he hears a loud boom. Someone has set off a bomb outside the building.

“Excuse me,” Clark mutters to everyone around him. He gets the hell out of the crowd.

Somehow, over the general chaos and din, he hears Bruce Wayne mutter into his phone, “Alfred, where’s the nearest door— I need to make a quick exit.” Which is not _entirely _unusual; the man _has _been kidnapped before. Also, he’s from _Gotham_; he’ll know that what happens after a bomb goes off is not good. No, it is his butler’s response that resonates with Clark— at least it does later.

“Yes, Sir, that is what I’d suggest. There is a service elevator in the Southwest corner of your floor, nearest the men’s restroom,” Alfred Pennyworth says.

Then Clark is too busy to eavesdrop.

Batman shows up to the fight about half an hour later. Clark is a little surprised, and it must show, because the Gothamite offers: “Some of these men are from _my _city.” Superman just nods, then goes back to subduing criminals. Batman does too.

He slams his fist into one thug’s gut, and then _leaps over _the man who’d been trying to sneak up behind him. That **doesn’t** end well for Batman’s opponent. Clark blinks, and goes back to what he’s doing— scanning for any other bombs, and checking out the buildings around the blast for structural damage. He’s also clearing the last few stragglers from the gala.

Then it hits him: _Wayne_. He hasn’t seen Wayne _anywhere_. “Hey, B!” he shouts.

Batman turns. “What?”

“Have you seen Bruce Wayne? I— I haven’t done a headcount yet, but he should be here!”

“No!” Batman shouts— he’s currently engaged with the last of the bombers— “but don’t worry about him right now; I’m sure Wayne’s hidden away somewhere. He’s been kidnapped before, and it’s made him rather _skittish _over the years.”

Clark just nods, not exactly at-ease with Batman’s dismissive explanation. Then he hears a British voice comment dryly over Batman’s cowl-comm., “Well that was rather riveting. ‘Where is Bruce Wayne,’ indeed.” And— it hits Clark then. _I’ve heard that voice before_. _That voice belongs to Bruce Wayne’s **butler**_.

“What’s the ETA on the Jet?” Batman asks, oblivious to Superman’s mind-melting discovery.

“The jet will be arriving momentarily, Sir,” the butler responds.

“Thank you, Agent A,” Batman mutters.

They wrap up the fight easily— though the explosion had _scared _a lot of people, it hadn’t really done that much damage. “Probably meant to make everyone fearful enough to comply with their demands,” Batman growls. Clark waits for the police to arrive, and Batman disappears. “It’s your city, Boy Scout, and I trust that you can handle the clean-up.”

Fifteen minutes later, Clark hears an officer call in, “I found Wayne— hiding in the storage closet on the fourth floor.” Something in Clark’s chest unclenches, and then he frowns. _That’s a rather **convenient** hiding spot. And fifteen minutes is just enough time for Batman to change, put the suit in the jet back to Gotham, and get into character_.

Wayne is brought out from the building, and immediately withdraws his phone as it rings. “Hello? Yeah, Alfred, I’m _fine_. Barely even noticed anything was going on— I’d been trying to find the bathroom when the bomb went off. Can you believe it?”

“Very good, Sir,” comes the passive response.

Clark floats off into the upper stratosphere to think.

_Okay. Okay. So, what does Superman really know about Batman? What do I know about **Bruce Wayne**?_ He’ll start with the basic facts: both are from Gotham. Both have… _reputations_. Each has a long history in the city, with tragic elements— Joker, Wayne’s parents. Batman is educated. Bruce, though not (apparently) smart, went to private schools growing up, and did a year at Princeton before dropping out. Wayne is most definitely rich enough to fund Batman and the Justice League. Additionally, each man is deeply, deeply passionate about the city. Whatever else Wayne is— or maybe pretends to be— he _cares _about Gotham. Batman, it goes without saying, does too.

Next, Clark reflects on Wayne’s physique. He’s roughly the same height as Batman (Clark’s not sure about the weight, or blood type though). Wayne’s chin _could _be Batman’s. Then there’s his voice. Batman uses a vocal modulator, but— _but didn’t I feel an eerie **connection** to Wayne’s voice just earlier tonight? _

Then there is also the fact that this isn’t the first time Wayne has mysteriously disappeared during a crisis. It’s happened enough for people to notice it (and to conclude that Wayne either has incredibly lucky timing, or he’s a coward, or _both_). Lastly, and most damning, Agent A and Alfred’s voices match.

So, Clark concludes: “Batman is Bruce Wayne.” _Fuck_.

He doesn’t see Batman for another week. During the interim time, Clark considers what he’s going to do. Superman’s sense of fair play tells him that he needs to let Bruce know that he knows that _he’s **Batman**_. But Clark is neither sure where to do this, nor when. Batman is going to be upset by Superman’s disclosure. He may even get violent (though Clark likes the man, he does have a temper). Clark is also deeply, deeply terrified that if he does this wrong, Batman will vanish like a puff of smoke.

He doesn’t want to lose the unlikely friendship that’s bloomed between them. Clark is also worried that he’ll ruin whatever chance for _something more _which Diana seems to think he has. Also, there is the faint (but real) possibility that his revelation will make Batman do something utterly drastic— such as leaving the league. But Clark doesn’t think that confronting him in Gotham is a good idea (too many places for him to hide) and he certainly won’t come to Metropolis unless Clark has a _really _good reason (and that would only make him more uncomfortable).

He decides that it’s best to wait for the next league meeting.

The fated day finally arrives. Superman does his best not to fidget during the meeting, though from Diana’s glances (and _Batman’s_), he’s not sure how successful that endeavor is. The meeting is a fairly short one, but it still feels like it stretches on for an eon. Still, everything that starts must end— even Justice League meetings. Batman, unsurprisingly, is the first to leave; still having little use for post-meeting socialization.

This time, however, Superman is the second to depart.

Batman is already at the end of the hall when Clark catches up to him. Nobody is around except them. Despite the fact that Superman could _easily _catch up with Batman all on his own, the other man slows when he senses Clark approaching. They fall into step and walk side-by-side down the hall. _Here goes nothing_.

“Bruce?” Clark asks casually.

“Yes, Superman?” Batman replies quickly. There is a second of silence, where the other hero seems to be waiting for Superman’s response. Then Batman realizes what he’s done, that Superman has called him _Bruce_. Batman jerks to a halt like a marionette whose strings have been cut. And just like that, Clark has confirmed his theory: Batman _is_ Bruce Wayne.

Batman has gone completely still, and though Superman can’t hear his actual heartbeat, he can _imagine _it. He can also see the absolute **tension** in Batman’s body. They’re both silent for at least two minutes, and then Bruce mutters, “How did you find out? I- I have to know in case—”

Clark takes pity on him. “It wasn’t you, it was me.” Bruce snorts at the line, but he doesn’t otherwise seem that _amused_. He gestures: go on. Clark takes a breath, and continues, “I— it was your comm. The one you have built-in to the cowl? I heard _Alfred _that night in Metropolis, at the gala, with the bomb. Then, when we were fighting, I heard Agent A.”

Bruce’s jaw twitches. Absently, as if he’s forgotten that Superman is there (he _hasn’t_, Clark knows) Bruce murmurs, “Lead. I thought you couldn’t—”

Clark’s heart squeezes at the blatant mistrust. But he still answers, “You’re right. I can’t see through lead. But I can still **hear** through it.”

Bruce stands stock-still for a moment, then sighs. His shoulders sag, as if he’s carrying a great load. “Of course.” He looks resigned.

There’s another ugly silence in which Batman doesn’t look past Superman’s red boots. Clark frowns, because _he looks so defeated_. A part of him is angry, that Batman— Bruce— is still so distrusting. Another part of him is sad. But another part understands; Clark would be pretty upset too if someone told him they’d uncovered his real identity.

“I’m not going to tell anyone,” he says softly. Bruce looks up. “It’s not my secret to share.”

Bruce is quiet for another moment. Then he sighs softly, so quiet that if Clark weren’t _himself_, he wouldn’t have heard it. He looks… not relaxed, but a bit less unnerved at least. Clark smiles. “See you next meeting, Batman.” Bruce nods once, and takes the out eagerly. Clark watches his black cape-clad form stride away.

Three weeks pass, and Batman (Bruce) still hasn’t come to a league meeting. Clark’s heart hurts— _is it really so bad that I know?_ “Where the _hell_ is Batman?” Hal asks impatiently.

“Um,” Clark says quietly. “I may have figured out his civilian identity. He… didn’t take it well— and no, I’m not going to tell you.” Hal shuts his mouth, and Clark would be more rebuking, but he’s too busy not meeting Diana’s sympathetic gaze.

A week later, Bruce Wayne gets kidnapped.

“Hey,” Clark says, giving Bruce a moment to catch his breath after he catches him (the kidnappers had pushed Bruce out a window). Superman tries his best not to eavesdrop on Bruce’s vital signs, or be overcome by the shock he’s feeling at holding _an armful of Bruce_. Bruce, who is, at the moment, a civilian that Superman hasn’t met before.

“Hi,” Bruce replies sheepishly. Superman starts carrying him toward the manor.

“Wait.” Clark stops. “You- you need to take me back,” Bruce says reluctantly. He sighs.

“Why?”

“The paramedics will want to check me over, and I still need to give a statement to the police. Also: do you _really_ want people talking about why Superman seems to care so much about Bruce Wayne?” Bruce asks, scowling.

Clark grimaces. _He’s right_. “Fine. But— can I see you later?” _I’ve never felt so nervous_.

Bruce looks at the clouds. “Yes. Come by the manor in a few days, when all this has died down.”

Clark grins (and doesn’t miss the responding jump in Bruce’s heartrate— _interesting_). “Okay.”

He never makes it to the cave. Instead, he **dies**.

It’s the hardest fight of Superman’s life— turns out that the name ‘Doomsday’ is fitting after all— and Superman, who _everyone_ assumed was invulnerable, who everyone _assumed_ could never be defeated **_dies_**…

Or he doesn’t.

Six months later, Clark comes _back_. Or rather, Clark wakes up, and he’s in his own grave, buried under six feet of dirt, and it’s dark, and he can _hear _the bugs and the smell of the rich, fertilized (with bodies, it’s the scent of _decaying bodies _he’s smelling) earth, and it— his chest hurts. **All of him hurts**. Clark manages to break out of his own grave, and, well, then he’s _alive _again. But this poses almost as many problems as it does solutions.

Problems like: what is Superman going to do now? What is _Clark_? Because maybe he is immortal— _maybe I won’t ever really die_. Clark’s chest hurts at that thought, because _Ma, Pa,_ _Bruce_. Regardless of this conundrum, and what a mindfuck of a conundrum it is, Clark has more immediate concerns to deal with.

He— _he _doesn’t feel the same since he died. Logically, he knows that it’s trauma— some form of PTSD almost definitely— but that doesn’t stop him from _feeling_ it. Also, just because Clark’s pulled a Rip Van Winkle doesn’t mean everyone else has. **The world** isn’t the same since he died, either. It feels darker. Colder. Duller. The league has changed too.

Wonder Woman knows Batman’s real name now.

“He took it hard, you know?” Flash confides quietly. “I mean… we _all_ did. But Batman especially.” Clark nods. Bruce still hasn’t talked to him. But he sure seems close to Diana.

A week after Clark’s <strike>resurrection</strike> return, he learns the _extent_ of Batman and Wonder Woman’s closeness.

“Bruce,” Diana says. She wraps an arm around Bruce’s shoulders. He exhales softly. They’re sitting on the bed in her Watchtower quarters. “You need to tell him.”

Bruce shudders. Clark is surprised to hear that he’s crying. “I- I can’t,” he stutters.

“Okay. Okay,” Diana says. “If you want, I can—”

For a moment, Clark sees **red **as his guts churn, and his fists clench, and he suddenly wants to scream_. It isn’t fair. It isn’t **fair**— Bruce is supposed to be with** me**. If I hadn’t died, if I’d been able to go to the cave, then…_ well, Diana wouldn’t be calling Batman ‘Bruce’ with so much affection in her voice. Batman wouldn’t be letting Wonder Woman _touch_ him—

But Clark _didn’t_ go to the cave. **He died** <strike>and the rest of the world went on without him</strike>. Clark, with a burning, _sick_ feeling in his gut (so much worse than kryptonite), cuts off his senses and flees. He’s heard enough.

Superman takes a leave of absence; a week for himself, just to be alone (_it’s practice for later, when I **actually will be**_). He flies to the Fortress of Solitude— the name has _never_ felt more fitting than it does now. He sits alone in the cold and ice and feels a part of himself harden. _Okay, so. Bruce and Diana are together now. Okay_.

Clark returns. Bruce is still reserved around him, but he does at least let Clark know that he’s _glad _Superman is back. Despite his well wishes, things are not the same (can **never **be the same, not when Superman has died) because how can they be when _Clark_ doesn’t follow that most cardinal of nature’s rules: all things that live must die.

How can things be the same when Clark overhears Bruce say, “Diana, I love—”

“I know,” Diana murmurs.

Clark hardens his heart. _Superman is an alien. Superman is ice. Superman is **unbreakable**. _Clark is immortal and Batman is only human, so of course he’d seek out comfort in a time of loss— and Diana is very comforting.

Superman is polite to both of them. Bruce extends another invitation to the manor (to him _and_ Diana this time). Clark rejects it. He tries to ignore the significant look they share. Later, Diana says, “He needs time, Bruce. All this is still new to him.” Clark reminds himself that it is ugly to be bitter.

Another month passes this way. Clark gets over his loss— mostly. _At least I know it **could **have been. At least there’s that_. At least he can still call Bruce his _friend_. The impasse goes on for another two weeks.

Then, one night, Clark hears the call: “Superman.” It’s Bruce. He sounds **drunk**. Clark frowns. He listens for Diana’s heartbeat. It’s not at the manor. In fact, it’s across the Atlantic. “C-Clark. _Please_.”

Superman sighs, and steels himself to go comfort his friend about his breakup.

Bruce is drunk. Bruce is _very_ drunk. He’s standing on the master bedroom’s balcony, a bottle of scotch held loosely in his left hand. He’s got his arms crossed and leans lazily against the railing, staring out into the distance.

“Bruce,” Clark calls, as he sets down.

Bruce’s head jerks up, and— Clark, for all his bitterness, still _cares_ about this man. He feels a pang of sympathy for Bruce; he knows a thing or two about heartache. “Shuper— Superm’n,” Bruce slurs, offering the man of steel a sloppy grin. Clark’s heart feels stabbed through; he knows what the sensation is like now, so he can say that this description is _accurate_.

“Hey,” Clark offers gently. He takes the bottle from Bruce, whose hands are cold. The man shivers, and leans into Clark’s side. _Ice_, Clark reminds himself, _be ice_. He brings his cape around to cover Bruce, who half-buries himself beneath it.

The red cape sets off the color blooming in Bruce’s cheeks.

“Take it you h’rd from D’na,” Bruce mutters. Superman is suddenly relieved that Bruce is still nestled in his cape; it means that Batman doesn’t see the _pained_ expression that crosses his face.

“I’m sorry she broke up with you. You two seemed good together,” Clark says hollowly.

There is a beat of silence. Then Bruce removes his head from Clark’s shoulder. His dim, bloodshot gaze meets Clark’s concerned one. “What?” Bruce asks.

Clark frowns. “D-didn’t Diana break up with you? I thought— did _you_ break up with her_?” Am I comforting the wrong person? _He may be **jealous**, but Wonder Woman is still a friend.

Bruce blinks, and his brow furrows. He looks utterly baffled. “What’re you sayin’?” he asks. Clark opens his mouth to explain, but Bruce continues: “We were never togth’r.” Clark freezes. Bruce frowns at him, and blinks owlishly. “Clark?”

“W-what? But I thought—”

Bruce frowns. His eyes widen. “You thou’ we… were datin.’ I— is _that_ why you sta’ed ‘way?” He sounds hopeful.

Clark blinks. He suddenly feels _incredibly_ stupid. _I may have **severely** misread this situation._ “Well, _yeah_. But, Bruce. You and Diana were— what is it you need to tell me?”

Bruce rubs his face against Clark’s chest— trying to get under the cape again (Clark abruptly remembers how _cold_ it gets in Gotham). He’s about to pick Bruce up and bring them inside, but Bruce’s sigh stops him. “I was askin’ Di’na for a’vice.”

“Why?”

Bruce blinks up at him. “‘Cause I did— didn’t k’ow how to say I l’ve you.”

He presses a slobbery kiss to the corner of Clark’s mouth (he’d probably been aiming for the lips, but...) it still hits Clark like a spike to the chest. “_What?_” Clark says intelligently. And oh man, if Batman remembers any of this in the morning, he is going to make so much fun of Clark.

“I. Love. You,” Bruce repeats, enunciating carefully. He thumps his head against Clark’s chest and yawns. He doesn’t seem to notice how very still Superman has gone. _Love. He said **love**_. Clark’s heart is going to _burst_.

Bruce yawns again. It’s enough to snap Clark out of his stupor. “Let’s get you to bed, B.”

The next morning (a Saturday, thank god), Superman is floating over Metropolis, soaking in the sun. He is also, maybe, waiting for a _certain billionaire’s _heartrate to change. So he can go talk to him. About the kiss they (arguably) shared last night. When said billionaire— who is _also _Batman— drunkenly confessed his love for Superman.

Around eleven a.m.— Clark _is not_ keeping track, he’s **not**— Bruce wakes up. Clark gives him another twenty minutes, and then he flies to Gotham and lands on Bruce’s balcony. He raps gently on the glass-paned French doors and waits. He hears Bruce thud across the room— his usual grace seems to have abandoned him this morning.

Squinting in the light, Bruce throws open the door, and blinks. “Clark? _Oh, Jesus Christ_— it wasn’t a dream then. Come in.” He sounds extremely embarrassed, and Clark’s heart falls. _Surely he **can’t **have not meant it? _

But Bruce steps back into the relative shadows of his bedroom, and invites Clark across the threshold. Then Bruce mutters something that sounds like “never drinking again,” and gestures to one of two plush armchairs. “Have a seat.” Clark sits, and tries not to worry at his cape.

Bruce retreats from view, and Clark hears a bottle of pills being uncapped, then the bathroom tap running. Bruce returns, and sits stiffly in the chair across from Clark. “So,” Batman says.

“So,” Clark replies. They look at each other and fall silent.

Finally, Bruce sighs. He runs a hand through his disheveled hair in a way that makes his biceps and triceps flex. Clark’s stomach takes a dive and his mouth goes dry. He doesn’t even let himself listen to Bruce’s heartbeat, because— because that **wouldn’t **end well for Clark’s dignity. Although, from the _look_ on Bruce’s face, there isn’t a lot of that to go around. “Tell me what happened,” he demands.

“You called me over, we talked, you—” Clark swallows down a shaky breath— “you told me you l-loved me, **kissed** me, and I got you into bed. Then I left.”

Bruce’s pulse lurches— in _stress_, and that is not good— then he scrubs a hand over his face. “Well fuck.”

Clark frowns for a moment, before adding, “Hey. At least _you _weren’t the one keeping away for months because you thought your friends were **dating**.”

Bruce blinks at him, looking almost as shocked as he had last night. Then he bursts into laughter, and laughs for so long that he starts wheezing. “Good— _fuck_… th-that’s… _Christ, Clark_. That’s the best thing I’ve ever heard.”

Now it’s Clark’s turn to frown. “Well, it was right after I came back! You and Diana seemed **close**, and…” _I already thought I was going to be alone forever_. Bruce stops laughing, and his face goes cool and serious.

“So… you do—” he cuts himself off. Clark hangs at the edge of his seat. Bruce averts his eyes, and continues, “You do like me.”

Clark snorts. _‘Like’ isn’t the right word, perhaps, but_, “Yes.”

Bruce stands. Clark follows suit. Bruce walks towards him, and— _oh. He’s going to **kiss **me_. Clark surges forward, and meets him halfway.

Later, after they break apart— Bruce gasping a little (which goes straight to Clark’s head, among **other **places)— Bruce asks, “Want to see the cave?”

Clark blinks. “Yes.”

They walk quickly through the manor. If he weren’t being shown something _infinitely _more impressive, Clark would spend hours looking around Bruce’s expansive home. He’ll have to do that later; he’s got time now. Clark smiles.

Bruce opens the door to his study, walks over to the large grandfather clock in the corner, winds the clockface to a certain time (at which Clark averts his eyes), and then the clock springs open. _Oh. There’s a secret passage_. He feels only _slightly_ like one of the Hardy boys.

Bruce looks back at him, and smirks. “Come on, Boy Scout.”

The Batcave is even more impressive than Superman had thought it would be. He gapes at his surroundings for almost a full minute before remembering himself. His gaze snaps to Bruce, who is leaning against the desk, arms crossed, watching him. “Very impressive,” Clark says quietly.

Something in Bruce’s posture relaxes as he pushes away from the desk. “I was fortunate enough not to have to do a lot of work to it. The cavern is naturally occurring. I did, however, decorate. Want to see?”

Clark hesitates. While he would indeed like to see Batman’s **decorations**, Clark has _something else_ he’s been wanting to see. “Can— would you… be willing to put on the suit?” he asks hesitantly.

Bruce stills. “I suppose. One moment.” He disappears.

Batman returns.

“Like what you see?” he growls, as Clark’s eyes rove over him. Despite himself, Clark blushes. This does not go unnoticed by Bruce, who smirks. _I am **definitely **going to have to have sex with him in the suit at some point_.

“Yes. But… could you… take the cowl off?” _I want to see **you**_. Batman sighs, but acquiesces.

And— he _knew_. Clark knew that Bruce was Batman, but... But knowing and _seeing _are two different beasts, and now— it’s **real**. Bruce is Batman, and Batman is Bruce. Clark’s breath suddenly catches in his throat. _There’s one more thing, though_. “Let me hear your heart,” Clark murmurs.

A quicksilver frown passes over Bruce’s face. He’s still standing a few feet away. “Please, B. _Indulge me_.” That seems to affect Batman. He growls, and Clark isn’t able to stay away any longer. In an instant, he’s closed the gap between them, and is standing directly in front of Batman— Bruce?— a cowl-less Batman.

Bruce shoves Superman away, with a shaky inhale, and a heated look. But his words are oddly vulnerable: “G-give me a moment.”

Clark obediently takes another step back. Bruce’s eyes briefly close, then his expression cools as he presses a sequence of buttons on the gauntlet’s retractable screen, and— Clark hears Bruce’s heartbeat, his _real **heartbeat**_, inside the Batsuit for the first time. Superman sags to his knees. Anxiously, Bruce follows suit.

“Take it off,” Clark rasps irrationally. Bruce obliges.

The chest plate armor is dropped to the cave floor with a thud, revealing the thin black spandex shirt beneath. It does very little to disguise the shape of Bruce’s muscles. Within an instant, Clark’s ear is pressed against Bruce’s chest; if the other man feels any alarm at this, he is remarkably good at not showing it. Absently, Superman feels Bruce’s arms come around him.

As they continue kneeling, Clark _listens_ raptly to the sweet music of Bruce’s heartbeat.

**Author's Note:**

> “Where’s J’ohn?” you may ask. Not here! They haven’t found him yet. 
> 
> “Why is the Green Lantern Hal Jordan and not John Stewart?” Hal is more of an ass to Batman, that’s why. Otherwise it’d be John. I love John. 
> 
> “Isn’t Flash Wally West in JL/JLU?” Yes, but I like Barry. 
> 
> I had **a lot** of fun writing this! 
> 
> **Now with a sequel** which you can find [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22095928).


End file.
